The I ching (n.) is an experiment without conditions: the coins fall as they like and an unknown question gets an unintelligible answer — ideal, except that no one knows what happened.
The I ching (n.) says heaven and earth only now and then pull apart — the West has made that rare opposition permanent and so lives in endless ethical conflict.
The I ching (n.) answered with The Cauldron when Jung consulted it about itself: a ritual vessel of spiritual food, envied, misunderstood, hoping to be honoured again.
The I ching (n.) offers neither facts nor power; like a part of nature it waits to be discovered — and the less one thinks about its theory, the more soundly one sleeps.
The I ching (n.) is an Archimedean point from which the whole Western cast of mind could be levered off its foundations.
The I ching (n.) is the textbook of a real Chinese science whose principle is not causality — that China produced no science is an optical illusion.
The I ching (n.) is no collection of magic spells, as the West supposed of the I Ching, but a formidable psychological system that tries to organize the play of archetypes into a readable pattern.